


Peaches & Cream

by 88thParallel (CanadaHolm)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Food Kink, Fruit, M/M, Morning Sex, PWP, Peaches - Freeform, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sensual Play, delicious messes, foodplay, fruit as lube, sticky situations, the peaches make the cream possible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-01 10:09:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13996029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanadaHolm/pseuds/88thParallel
Summary: Sherlock lifts his head from the pillow and looks down at the bowl in John’s hands.“Are those … peaches?”“You don’t have enough fruit in your diet,” John smirks, kneeling on the bed. “And I don’t know about you,” he murmurs predatorily, “but I woke up …hungry.”





	Peaches & Cream

**Author's Note:**

> Decided to get over my fear of writing smut with the help of my favorite summer stone fruit!

Sherlock awakes to birdsong and the carrying laughter of people having an early breakfast outside of Speedy’s. He inhales deeply and twists in the sheets, stretching languidly as his systems come back online. He blinks his eyes open to see few lazy specks of dust hanging in the warm beams of amber sunlight that fall across the room. He rubs a hand over his face, scratchy with stubble, then reaches for John. The bed beside him is empty.

The bathroom is dark, and Sherlock yawns and turns his head toward the hall to listen, rewarded with quiet noises in the kitchen. Soft footsteps announce John before he appears, hair still sleep-mussed, in his pants and a well-worn Groove Armada tee shirt.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” he smiles warmly, seeing Sherlock is awake. “Up for a little … pre-breakfast snack?” John’s tone is bashful, but his eyes are dark and hungry. 

Sherlock lifts his head from the pillow and looks down at the bowl in John’s hands.

“Are those … peaches?”

“You don’t have enough fruit in your diet,” John smirks, kneeling on the bed. “And I don’t know about you,” he murmurs predatorily, “but I woke up …  _ hungry.” _ He sets the bowl down at Sherlock’s shoulder and throws a leg over to straddle him. The fruit’s sweet aroma makes Sherlock’s stomach growl.

“Mmm,” Sherlock agrees, running his hands up John’s thighs. He slides his fingers up under the hem of John’s shirt and tucks them down into the band of his pants at his hips. “I could  _ definitely _ eat.”

“Are you sure? Peaches in bed … could get a little sticky,” John says with a raised eyebrow as he runs his hand up Sherlock’s stomach and over his chest, eliciting a shiver.

Sherlock bites his lip and observes the way the rising sun kisses the side of John’s face and illuminates his ruffled blonde hair, the hints of silver practically glowing. “Well, we better get that shirt off you, then. Wouldn’t want to get stains on it.”

John grins and pulls the tee up and over, throwing it in the general direction of the dirty laundry basket, then leans down to steal a quick kiss. Sherlock groans and pulls away. “I’ve got morning breath.”

John purses his lips and hums in irritation, then plucks a wedge of peach from the bowl. Slowly, he drags the edge of the fruit over Sherlock’s luscious bottom lip, then draws it away, and Sherlock sucks the sweet nectar off, already hungry for more. John holds it up in front of him, out of reach just enough to make Sherlock have to lift his head to take a bite. 

He’s barely swallowed before John’s lips are ghosting along his. He licks softly at Sherlock’s mouth until Sherlock opens to him. John moans his approval as he explores, tastes. His empty hand cards through Sherlock’s hair, and Sherlock whimpers as the intimate contact winds from his mouth straight down to his cock.

John’s expression is smug satisfaction as he licks his own lips and sits back on his heels, grinding down on Sherlock’s growing erection with his own arousal. 

Sherlock reaches into the bowl, fingers brushing through the slick slices before closing around one. He holds it up in the light, a perfect wedge, golden flesh freckled with deep red streaks. He raises his eyes to meet John’s, then slowly drags the glistening peach from John’s navel upward, over his sternum and up toward his collarbone. John throws his head back a little, baring his neck to be marked in syrup before pulling back a little and slowly licking along the slice of fruit and taking a bite. Another lick, another bite, and then John’s tongue wraps around Sherlock’s sticky fingers and sucks them clean one by one, smouldering eyes locked on Sherlock’s.

With a growl, Sherlock rolls them over, and John is barely on his back before Sherlock is licking the peach juice from his sensitive pulse point, mouthing it so hungrily that John arches beneath him, panting and gently pushing at Sherlock’s chest.

“No marks,” he rasps, because he has to work later, and Sherlock replies in a disappointed moan before moving lower, following the trail of nectar down to John’s sternum, then lower to his stomach. John’s fingers tangle in Sherlock’s hair as Sherlock’s fingers pause to tease John’s nipples. He squeezes and rubs in the way he knows drives John mad, and on cue John throws his head back into the pillow, whimpering desperately. 

John shifts his knee between Sherlock’s legs, carefully nudging his straining erection and the growing dampness on his pants. “I thought  _ I’m _ supposed to be feeding  _ you _ up,” John murmurs as Sherlock grinds back into him.

“You are,” Sherlock growls, and in one smooth motion, he pulls the band of John’s pants up and over his throbbing cock, and runs his tongue greedily up John’s length. John inhales sharply and his eyes go wide, and Sherlock takes advantage of his momentary bonelessness to do away with John’s pants altogether. Then he reaches up and retrieves another slice of peach. He runs the fuzzy side of the fruit from John’s left hip bone, swirling it up around John’s thick cock like he’s painting the stripe on a candy cane. 

“God, Sherlock,” John moans, as Sherlock massages the flesh of the fruit over his cock’s sensitive head, teasing the delicate underside, before pulling it away and replacing the peach with his mouth. He swirls his tongue around John’s cock, pausing to flick his tongue over the slit, lapping up the sweetness of nectar and precome and reveling in the way John writhes and tenses beneath him. He picks up speed, bobbing his head a few times before taking John to the root, burying his nose in the soft curls there.

Sherlock doubts John even realizes the obscene noises he’s making with every euphoric exhale, completely at the mercy of the man between his legs. Sherlock loves that he can take John apart like this — this strong, focused man who used to guard his emotions with iron resolve now squirming wantonly beneath him.

“Jesus … I’m … I’m not … going to last … if you keep this up,” John gasps, and Sherlock hollows his cheeks a little more and gives one last, enthusiastic suck before pulling off and looking up at John promiscuously. 

John’s hand reaches down to cradle Sherlock’s cheek. “Come up here,” he whispers, and Sherlock crawls up John’s body, grinding his arousal against John as their lips crash together. John arches and bucks up into him as they kiss and bite and lick, the taste of peaches and John still heavy in Sherlock’s mouth.

“How is it that you’re still wearing these?” John whispers hotly, right into Sherlock’s ear. He slides his hands under the band of Sherlock’s pants to squeeze his arse possessively, and moans, nuzzling into the side of Sherlock’s throat. 

Goosebumps blossom on the back of Sherlock’s neck down the length of his back, making his cock twitch painfully. He chokes back a sob and shifts so John can strip him. John growls as Sherlock’s cock springs free, thick and flushed and glistening, desperately seeking friction. 

Before he can stop himself, he ruts into John, smearing their copious precome between them and making John moan and push up to match his frantic rhythm. John lifts his head up to capture Sherlock’s mouth again, wild and savage, as if trying to consume him. His hands roam, gripping Sherlock’s hips, his thighs, his arse, then he grasps wildly for the bowl. Sherlock pulls back to watch, curious and amused and eager, sure he’s never been hungrier in his life than he is in this moment.

John wraps his hands, full of peaches, around them both, and Sherlock gasps and bucks into his tight grasp. John matches his pace, sticky flesh of the fruit slicking them both perfectly as they move in unison against each other.

“Oh. Oh, god. John,” Sherlock whimpers, snapping his hips harder and harder. The sucking sound the peaches make as they’re macerated between them is perhaps the most lewd thing Sherlock has ever heard. His heavy balls pull close and tight to his body as the beginning of the end starts to wash over him. 

“Sherlock,” John sobs, clenching even tighter as he bucks into his hands, pulverized fruit straining through his fingers, coating them both in succulent, fragrant peach pulp. 

“Yes, yes … John, oh my god … John,” Sherlock cries, and his vision whites out. Then he’s coming, thick ropes, sticky and sweet, painting John’s stomach and chest as his body and mind are flooded with ecstacy. Beneath him, John cries out, muscles tensing as his cock erupts alongside Sherlock’s. 

They ride out the aftershocks, and John holds them gently as they gasp for air. Sherlock leans down and kisses John once, twice, then down his jawline. He buries his face in the junction of John’s neck and shoulder, and they lay like that, panting and sweaty, for a few blissful moments, until Sherlock sits up and they survey the delicious disaster between them.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Alright! I can check "wrote porn" off the bucket list!
> 
> Much like most "first times" I'll admit it was a little awkward, a lot messier than anticipated, yet I hope the outcome was satisfactory nonetheless ;) 
> 
> Thanks to Zyan for the prompt!


End file.
